This site will be used to describe settings and places.
24 January 2010--
Try to re-write this with more gusto and more descriptions...using the show, not tell method.
Any Pictures? (Geng Leong)
This is a shopping mall. There are many people here.
It bustles with the usual squeeze arrays of shops each selling different things, each shop holding out signs full of empty advertisements. Throngs of people rush past me, with women a clad in business suits, pointed chins held high in an uncanny shot of dignity, mothers cajoling their young children, dancing around their thighs in bouts of self-absorption, and of course piteous husbands of shopaholics, their arms serving as hanger poles as they are dragged into a flurry of different branded stores—First Louis Vuitton, then Gucci, then Coach…
[shannon]
The mall was filled with the usual array of shops, each selling a variety of things. I gazed at the colossal crowds, spotting countless shopaholics, dragging their sighing disinterested husbands by. Many were enquiring about new products as salesmen tried to please their customers. Mannequins displayed at shop fronts modelled the latest fashion trends. I heard clicking of tongues with disapproval at children hastily chasing each other. Announcements about a lost little boy were made.
Done By: Harish:)
This is a dinner table. Mother is carrying a bowl of soup out from the kitchen.
His mother walks in quickly. Everything she did held an air of urgency to it- from her quick, small strides to the decided ends of her pursed lips to the way her hair swung exactly back into place with every forward movement she made. She was clutching a bowl of soup. Clutching is not the word, he corrected, supporting. Her hands fitted perfectly around the contours of the base of the bowl. It was a pretty porcelain bowl, albeit imperfect. Perhaps the blemish had been purposefully turned away from sight, the way people like to conceal the things they feel uncomfortable about having to be accountable for. He knew the long, ragged crack that resembled so much a jagged ravine from space, yet however hidden from his sight it was, he knew it was there.
The beautiful, perfect mahogany dinner table was an expensive antique. Her son had bought it for her, in desperation to display his filial piety. But it was a hollow act. She liked to pretend otherwise, that her son bought it for her because she liked it. But she knew she could never like such an antique. She tasted the soup she had just made. The aroma was mildly reminiscent of an ancient culinary gift, yet with a certain persornality. The heavenly taste lingered on her tongue lightly. It was perfect. And she needed it to be perfect. She ladled it into a Peranakan porcelain bowl, another of her son's gifts. The traditional phoenix design was painted on the bowl, an image of beauty and strength, trying to make people forget the bowl was just as fragile as it was beautiful and strong. She carried the bowl to the dinner table. She called for her husband. Then she remembered he died a week ago of cardiac arrest. She called for her son, guilty for not calling for him first. Then she remembered that he no longer lived with her, that the only traces of him that she saw of him were his frequent, expensive gifts from the mail. She drank the soup herself. ~Zhi Rui (I know I'm not doing this properly. This is not a setting. I can't do a setting. I'm an EPIC PHAILURE...)
Seriously, FAILURE is not spelt as PHAILURE~Huang Zhong
His mother strode towards the dining table purposefully from the cramped kitchen, clutching a bowl of soup with an heavenly aroma. The family glanced at the dining table, which was already fully laden with cutlery and and various dishes she had already placed onto the table, wondering how the heck would she be able to fit the big bowl of soup onto the table. Miraculously, without even moving away a single dish to make space, she placed the bowl of soup onto the wooden dining table. Then she sat down, studying the layout of the spread, nodded satisfactorily, and called for everyone to start dining.~Huang Zhong
"Dinner... is... served!" Mother announced as she strode into the dining room with a hot pot of chicken and potato soup and laid it down at the end of the table. She smiled proudly when she saw the magnificent spread of dishes she had dished out: Steamed sea bass, sweet and sour pork, spinach in oyster sauce, egg and minced meat, fried western chicken......everything and anything mouth-watering you could think of was served on the long oval table, already laden with silver forks, knives and spoons, even napkins, and five silver bowls of rice, the fifth one for her maid who had helped her greatly by cooking about half of all the dishes. The table was completed with a smooth tablecloth with flower patterns and splendid colours splashed across it. Father strode into the room, followed by Brother and the maid. ~Bryan
24 January 2010--
Try to re-write this with more gusto and more descriptions...using the show, not tell method.
Any Pictures? (Geng Leong)
This is a shopping mall. There are many people here.
It bustles with the usual squeeze arrays of shops each selling different things, each shop holding out signs full of empty advertisements. Throngs of people rush past me, with women a clad in business suits, pointed chins held high in an uncanny shot of dignity, mothers cajoling their young children, dancing around their thighs in bouts of self-absorption, and of course piteous husbands of shopaholics, their arms serving as hanger poles as they are dragged into a flurry of different branded stores—First Louis Vuitton, then Gucci, then Coach…
[shannon]
The mall was filled with the usual array of shops, each selling a variety of things. I gazed at the colossal crowds, spotting countless shopaholics, dragging their sighing disinterested husbands by. Many were enquiring about new products as salesmen tried to please their customers. Mannequins displayed at shop fronts modelled the latest fashion trends. I heard clicking of tongues with disapproval at children hastily chasing each other. Announcements about a lost little boy were made.
Done By: Harish:)
This is a dinner table. Mother is carrying a bowl of soup out from the kitchen.
His mother walks in quickly. Everything she did held an air of urgency to it- from her quick, small strides to the decided ends of her pursed lips to the way her hair swung exactly back into place with every forward movement she made. She was clutching a bowl of soup. Clutching is not the word, he corrected, supporting. Her hands fitted perfectly around the contours of the base of the bowl. It was a pretty porcelain bowl, albeit imperfect. Perhaps the blemish had been purposefully turned away from sight, the way people like to conceal the things they feel uncomfortable about having to be accountable for. He knew the long, ragged crack that resembled so much a jagged ravine from space, yet however hidden from his sight it was, he knew it was there.
The beautiful, perfect mahogany dinner table was an expensive antique. Her son had bought it for her, in desperation to display his filial piety. But it was a hollow act. She liked to pretend otherwise, that her son bought it for her because she liked it. But she knew she could never like such an antique. She tasted the soup she had just made. The aroma was mildly reminiscent of an ancient culinary gift, yet with a certain persornality. The heavenly taste lingered on her tongue lightly. It was perfect. And she needed it to be perfect. She ladled it into a Peranakan porcelain bowl, another of her son's gifts. The traditional phoenix design was painted on the bowl, an image of beauty and strength, trying to make people forget the bowl was just as fragile as it was beautiful and strong. She carried the bowl to the dinner table. She called for her husband. Then she remembered he died a week ago of cardiac arrest. She called for her son, guilty for not calling for him first. Then she remembered that he no longer lived with her, that the only traces of him that she saw of him were his frequent, expensive gifts from the mail. She drank the soup herself. ~Zhi Rui (I know I'm not doing this properly. This is not a setting. I can't do a setting. I'm an EPIC PHAILURE...)
Seriously, FAILURE is not spelt as PHAILURE~Huang Zhong
His mother strode towards the dining table purposefully from the cramped kitchen, clutching a bowl of soup with an heavenly aroma. The family glanced at the dining table, which was already fully laden with cutlery and and various dishes she had already placed onto the table, wondering how the heck would she be able to fit the big bowl of soup onto the table. Miraculously, without even moving away a single dish to make space, she placed the bowl of soup onto the wooden dining table. Then she sat down, studying the layout of the spread, nodded satisfactorily, and called for everyone to start dining.~Huang Zhong
"Dinner... is... served!" Mother announced as she strode into the dining room with a hot pot of chicken and potato soup and laid it down at the end of the table. She smiled proudly when she saw the magnificent spread of dishes she had dished out: Steamed sea bass, sweet and sour pork, spinach in oyster sauce, egg and minced meat, fried western chicken......everything and anything mouth-watering you could think of was served on the long oval table, already laden with silver forks, knives and spoons, even napkins, and five silver bowls of rice, the fifth one for her maid who had helped her greatly by cooking about half of all the dishes. The table was completed with a smooth tablecloth with flower patterns and splendid colours splashed across it. Father strode into the room, followed by Brother and the maid. ~Bryan